The mess piled around me. A lot of a bit here, an even more of a bit there. Towers of partially crumpled boxes were everywhere I looked, trapping me within a prison of my own creation. I wanted to escape, but yet the endless meals of takeaway had left me too lethargic and feverish to even attempt to begin.
At uni I was asked to create a non-fiction learning resource for children on The History of Drugs. This was my finished design. I made it using Adobe Illustrator.
I wake up early.
It doesn’t even surprise me any more, but still I’m annoyed at the lack of a needed lie-in. It just doesn’t seem fair. If I was anywhere else in the world then I could have pulled the softened duvet up around my neck and delved straight back into my dreams. That doesn’t happen here though. For a start I have no bed – nothing but the granite flag-stones beneath my bruised body. Secondly, I’ll just have to keep dreaming of that duvet, as the only blanket I could find was a ragged, plaster-covered sheet that is way past needing washing.
It was night-time when we came off the plane. Mumia smiled at me, holding my hand so that I didn’t get lost amongst the crowds of people returning to their Mumias and Babas.
“New beginnings,” she whispered quietly. I looked at her, and saw sadness mixed into her smile. The truth seemed ‘to hit her like a bus’. There was only us. I had lost my own Baba somewhere on the journey, and so we were left here alone to start this new life. I was scared, but I felt that I couldn’t show this even to her. I had to be strong. That had always been what people called me: the strong one.
Tonight I ate like a horse.
I don’t remember eating hay and grass
But apparently I did.
As me and the others show our invites at the gates, I couldn’t help but feel shameful of how crumpled mine was. We walked quickly through the gates, and looked at each other confidently. Who would have ever thought that 5 bell ringers from St Ives would be invited to a queen’s garden party!
It wasn’t as if I had never seen him before, but today was different. Those glances before had been from a distance – never had I been close enough to be able to see that his eyes were a muddy brown. Never before had I been so close that I could reach out and touch him.
I normally don’t hate my job, but today watching over the lifeless body of the once sprightly Joe Tarat sent chills through my brain. I looked down at the cobbled crime-scene once more.
Blood splatter said that it had been a blow to the head.